


Coffee, or Tea, or Something of that Persuasion- Time

by Tandirra



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 07:51:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandirra/pseuds/Tandirra
Summary: Hope Lerman has been getting her breakfast at the coffee shop across from Mr. Fell's bookstore for the last 25 years. Such an observant woman learns some things about routines in that time.





	Coffee, or Tea, or Something of that Persuasion- Time

Hope Lerman had held the same morning routine for twenty five out of the thirty years she had lived in London.

Wake up hoping to beat the sunrise. Usually be disappointed by the proceeding lack of a sunrise. Curse the clouds and whoever made them. Wake up her flatmates in the process. Spend the next twenty or so minutes struggling to make a decision on what to wear and exactly how to apply her makeup. (It had begun far more elaborate but by now it was the same each time: a simple sweep of lipstick. The only thing that varied was the color.) Then, finally, head out into the world.

And directly to her favorite coffee shop where she would spend the intervening hour and a half before work sharing intimate time with an americano and the sweetest, crumbliest blueberry scone in Soho. Behind the foggy glass she was safe from the world, from the constant ebb and flow of passersbys, from downpours, or from biting cold and the miserable heat that the change of the seasons brought on.

From her favorite spot by the window (which, by some miracle of luck, she nearly always got) she had the perfect view for some fine people watching. And the people that passed by her window were often nearly as crucial to her routine as the waking up bit. Among the constancy of ever changing tourists she had come to recognize quite a few familiar faces. Business men, women, and the like on their way to their own jobs. A couple she’d watched grow old over the years holding hands out on their morning walk; they passed by like clockwork.

By far her favorite, and second least predictable, face was the pudgy book keeper who owned the bookstore directly across from her cafe.

Often she saw him in the windows of his shop dusting, adjusting, and sometimes, it appeared, even speaking to his vast wealth of books. Mr. Fell, as he’d introduced himself to her as on the few occasions she had ventured into his shop. He, unlike the walking couple, or the business folk, or even Hope herself, seemed untouched by time. He looked almost the same as he had twenty years ago; with his poof of blonde hair, his odd, old clothes, and a smile she could tell was warm even from across the gap between them.

Of course, his apparent eternal middle agedness couldn’t be right. He was just blessed with fine genes. Or perhaps he was younger than he had first appeared. Whatever the reason, his appearance in the window was a surprisingly comfortable staple to Hope’s morning routine.

Less comforting was the man he ate breakfast with each Friday. _This_ man would, with just as much clockwork precision as the walking couple, barrel his old Bentley onto the curb in front of the bookstore. It was practically a miracle he hadn’t hit anyone. He would swan across the road and into the coffee shop and up to the counter all without taking his sunglasses off. Lucky bastard never caught a line, it seemed.

Why he made her uncomfortable, well, that had little to do with his poor driving skills or his unusual and annoying luck. It did, however, have a little to do with his need to wear sunglasses at inappropriate times.

Hope’s mother, God rest her soul, always said she was just maybe _slightly_ too perceptive for her own good. Other people just called her nosy. She's conceded to admit it might be a bit of both.

Either way, she knew someone out of the ordinary when she saw them. He rarely followed such a routine as everyone else did, save for his pedestrian threatening arrival. He changed his hair, his style (though he deeply preferred black), even his half of the pair’s breakfast order.

On one hand he always ordered an Irish creme latte, quite the indulgence, and a croissant. That order, Hope had decided, must belong to Mr. Fell. He seemed the type to enjoy such a rich breakfast. Which, of course, only left the other half.

That one always changed, though there were a few fine standbys by which Hope measured the mystery man’s mood. One black coffee and it was a nasty one; one meant to be soothed by a generous helping of liquor she’d seen him pour into said black coffee as he passed across the street and into Mr. Fell’s store. A tea of any variety or a latte plain and simple and he was just fine, if a bit quick in and out of the cafe. A double shot americano (at least he had some good taste) and he was planning something. Even from behind his ostentatious sunglasses she could always tell an americano meant plotting. Best of all were the rare mochas or the cappuccinos, much as he wasn’t a smiler those days one seemed always on the edges of his thinly drawn lips.

Why he never ordered any food for himself to eat, well, Hope _obviously_ speculated. He certainly kept his svelte figure, perhaps it was a diet. Not one she’d try, she too much liked her breakfast to consider giving it up even for such an ageless body as he had.

Whatever the order his time spent waiting for their order allowed for ample observing. Much as he seemed relaxed draping himself against the counter with little concern for the line forming behind him, he kept himself on alert. The way he wrapped his arms around himself tight as he could, always trying for tighter as if he could fold them into an intricate knot, his tapping black shoe rapping out a beat against the linoleum, and especially the way his hidden eyes darted around the establishment.

It was as if he were casing anyone and everyone within for something sinister. That anyone would bother him was a ridiculous thought; he certainly didn’t make himself a figure who anyone in their right mind would want to annoy or even approach. He’d caught Hope staring on more than one occasion and even from behind black glass she could tell he was staring daggers right back. He wouldn’t even stop when she’d quickly avert her gaze back to her coffee or become suddenly very interested in the state of her nails. Even then, she could feel him watching her as if she’d turn into some great and terrible monster right in front of him. It was absolutely ridiculous.

Nevertheless, upon being caught she’d make a concentrated effort to be more discreet. Not that it ever lasted long, such a fellow warranted some healthy curiosity. And she wasn’t hurting him or Mr. Fell with it, so she never stopped despite the menacing scowls she’d many a time earned from Mr. Sunglasses.

That being said, it had been a long two weeks since Mr. Sunglasses had graced the coffee shops door. It was an unusual break, and not one that sat well with Hope, not at all. There had already been a number of strange things that had disturbed her over the last few weeks and one more was simply too much.

Though none of them she could quite solidify in her mind as she sat at her usual spot, sipping her americano, staring at Mr. Fell’s bookstore.

A bookstore she could have sworn she’d seen on very much fire. But perhaps that was just a dream, for certainly now it was as whole as it had ever been and looked no different from the first time she'd ever laid eyes upon it. She’d even visited just the other weekend and everything was in its place, Mr. Fell had even got some new books in, one’s she thought her nephew might like. She’d asked him, against her better judgment, if everything were alright or if there had been any kind of fire but he’d just laughed good naturedly, if a bit nervously. “Er, no, no… of course not!” He’d said and ushered her onto a book he thought she might enjoy reading. (It was an understood rule that you didn't actually _buy_ any books in Mr. Fell's bookstore.) And when she’d pushed, because she pushed too much, everyone said so, he’d rather sternly put his foot down on such nonsense. “I’m quite sure, Ms. Lerman.” He’d said, “I think _I_ would notice if _my_ bookstore had burned down. Though I’m quite flattered that you’d be so concerned about little old me.”

Whatever the case, she'd seen neither hide nor hair of his Mr. Sunglasses since that fiery dream. She was beginning to wonder, as she was wont to do, if they’d split up. Wonder, however, wasn’t exactly the right word, it was, surprisingly, _dread_ . She _dreaded_ their breakup. Much as Mr. Sunglasses was a road menace and sulked around the coffee shop holding up the line, he did seem like a rather interesting fellow and if he put half as much care into making sure Mr. Fell’s coffee was just right as he did into Mr. Fell himself, well, then Mr. Fell was a rather lucky man indeed. And Mr. Fell had good taste in books and coffee so she gave him the benefit of the doubt for his taste in men as well.

She’d been too tactful to ask about Mr. Sunglasses when she’d asked about the burning bookstore. After all, if it were a breakup she’d hate to cause more stress than he was already under. Especially since the pair had been together for so long. She knew that kind of stress aged a person and Mr. Fell had been exceedingly lucky to avoid that particular fate.

Perhaps she’d bring him some flowers. Or some chocolates; those had been lifesavers during her last breakup. And Hope knew by his coffee order alone that Mr. Fell would love such _sinful_ indulgences as a box of rich chocolates. Nothing soothed the wounded soul like coconut cream filled indulgences.

Hope was in the middle of considering exactly which brand of chocolates Mr. Fell would like best when the door to his bookstore opened and out he walked. Followed immediately by Mr. Sunglasses who waved dismissively when Mr. Fell extended an ushering arm.

Dashing her plans, Hope scanned for the menace of a car Mr. Sunglasses drove. But no, she hadn’t missed something, it was nowhere to be seen. She thought, with a small smile to herself, that she rather understood the circumstances.

And the two men were crossing the street now. And walking up to the coffee shop.

Hope practically buzzed with excitement. This had never happened before. What a thrilling break of tradition!

“How long has this shop been here?” she heard Mr. Fell say. “And to think I’ve never been inside!”

“Dunno,” said Mr. Sunglasses. “Last few decades, at least. Used to be a bar, I think. Good mojitos, that place had.”

Hope had heard that fact from the owners before, but that had been back in the 60s. Surely the two men were mistaken. They must be thinking of some other place.

“Oh, I do remember that!” The bell on the door rung as they entered.

Mr. Sunglasses was first to the counter with Mr. Fell trailing him, spending more effort taking in the scenery than reaching the counter. Hope tried, hastily, to hide behind her newspaper, but her rustling only drew his eyes quicker. He started slightly but smiled at her and gave her a small wave.

She waved back. He really was quite a nice man.

“Uh, yeah,” Mr. Sunglasses started when he made it to the counter for, of course, there was no line. “One cappuccino.” Hope smiled. So it was _that_ kind of day.

And he moved aside for Mr. Fell. Who ordered, initially speaking more to Mr. Sunglasses than the man behind the counter. “Um, well, I suppose there’s no use switching things up if I like it. An Irish cream, please. And a croissant! Can’t forget that.”

Both of them moved aside for the woman behind them. Mr. Fell’s good influence, Hope assumed.

The table they chose was within deliciously good earshot.

“Ah, I’ve been thinking.” Mr. Fell started. His smile was earnest and all for Mr. Sunglasses. “We should go to the beach. There’s some in Spain that I’ve never been to but have heard just rave things about.”

“Angel, all the beaches there are nude beaches.” Mr. Sunglasses played with a napkin, methodically shredding it. “You’d have to make sure you’ve got… everything in order.”

“Crowley!” Mr. Fell dipped to a whisper, scandalized.

So that was the elusive name of Mr. Sunglasses. Hope had to admit, it suited him, odd as it was. Perhaps his father had listen to too much Ozzy Osbourne.

“What?” Mr. Crowley shrugged, much less concerned, though he too dropped into a mutter. Hope strained to hear. “You’d forget your own belly button and then cause a scene. It wouldn’t be the first time. Remember that time at the bathhouses in Rome?”

 _“Please.”_ Mr. Fell scoffed, though he tugged at his collar and turned slightly pink. “That was a _long_ time ago. I’ve got a much better handle on human anatomy now.”

“Do you?” Mr. Crowley appeared skeptical. And they lapsed into silence.

Hope had never felt more out of the loop on slang as she did now. She took a bite of her scone to save face as Mr. Fell glanced around the store.

They didn’t pick up again until their orders were in front of them. It was Mr. Fell, picking at his croissant who spoke rather dejectedly. “So, is that a no?”

Mr. Crowley snorted into his cappuccino. “No! I mean- no that sounds great, honestly. Get a little sun, lounge on the sand with some wine, forget about that whole thing in Tadfield for a few hours.”

That immediately set Hope speculating. Maybe they had gotten to eachother's throats. Or perhaps had some falling out. Certainly it didn’t seem to have hurt their relationship in the present. Quite the opposite, in fact, since they were here now. And good for them. After twenty five years it was about time they came out and had a coffee in public.

“Oh, oh good!” The mournful Mr. Fell immediately evaporated with a bright smile. “We’ll have to find a place to stay.”

“A villa just came up for rent, actually.”

“Did it?” Mr. Fell raised an eyebrow, but he seemed rather coy. Hope couldn’t figure out why, or why this so called Mr. Crowley could possibly know such a thing right away. 

Though perhaps he’d known about Mr. Fell’s desire to get away. Some couples were just like that, could tell what the other was thinking before their partner was really ever thinking about it. If only she were so lucky.

Mr. Crowley smirked briefly, it was the first expression of its kind Hope had seen from the man. “Right next to my favorite beach. Pulled strings a few centuries ago when it was built. It’s mine whenever I want it.”

That couldn’t be right, of course, she must have misheard.

“Ah.” Mr. Fell nodded sagely. “I see. Well, it sounds lovely.”

It did. A Spanish villa, she couldn’t imagine a more romantic get away. And she couldn't be happier about it.

The silence they fell into now was more comfortable. Which left Hope nothing to do but wait and attend to her own breakfast as they did to theirs.

It wasn’t until they were making to leave that Hope gathered enough courage to speak to them. “Mr. Fell!” She said, rising slightly.

He turned his smile on her while Mr. Crowley scowled in the background. “It’s good to see you, Ms. Lerman. What a coincidence, running into you here!”

“Not really.” She and Mr. Crowley said at the same time. She briefly locked eyes, or as close as he could get behind his sunglasses, with him and hastily returned to Mr. Fell with an explanation. “I eat breakfast here every morning. It’s my favorite. I’m surprised this is the first time I’ve seen you in here.”

“Oh, well.” Mr. Fell adjusted his coat. “I suppose I don’t get out enough.”

“Well, when you’ve got your partner to bring you breakfast you might as well take advantage.” She chanced a weak smile the way of Mr. Crowley.

Mr. Fell looked surprised. “Oh, you’ve met?”

“Sorta.” Crowley grunted, collecting the scraps of the napkin he’d shredded.

“Just seen him around, is all.” While smiling at Mr. Fell, Hope noticed Crowley return a napkin to its place at the table. For a wild second she thought it had been the one he’d ruined. But that obviously couldn’t be the case. He shoved his hands in his pockets moments later. “Sorry to keep you, I just-” She bit her tongue. “I’m glad to see the two of you out like this, it’s about time. Oh, and have fun in Spain!”

Mr. Fell’s smile faltered for the briefest moment but it returned redoubled moments later. He dipped his head slightly, clearly embarrassed. “Well, thank you, Mr. Lerman. We should, um, be going now. You have a good day!” With little but a parting wave he hurried out of the shop followed closely by Crowley.

Hope felt slightly bad for embarrassing him, but then again he had become rather precious.

“Do you think she heard everything?” She head Mr. Fell murmur as the pair let the door swing closed.

And from behind glass she heard Crowley’s muffled reply. “It’s fine. Don’t worry so much, love, she’s human. They rationalize everything.”


End file.
